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Chapter 1
Andthatmanisgoingtobeyourservant,FranklinP.Scudder.”
Iwasgettingtolikethelittlechap.Hisjawhadshutlikearat-trap,andtherewasthefireofbattleinhisgimletyeyes.Ifhewasspinningmeayarnhecouldactuptoit.
“Wheredidyoufindoutthisstory?”Iasked.
“IgotthefirsthintinaninnontheAchenseeinTyrol.Thatsetmeinquiring,andIcollectedmyothercluesinafur-shopintheGalicianquarterofBuda,inaStrangers’ClubinVienna,andinalittlebookshopofftheRacknitzstrasseinLeipsig.IcompletedmyevidencetendaysagoinParis.Ican’ttellyouthedetailsnow,forit’ssomethingofahistory.WhenIwasquitesureinmyownmindIjudgeditmybusinesstodisappear,andIreachedthiscitybyamightyqueercircuit.IleftParisadandifiedyoungFrench-American,andIsailedfromHamburgaJewdiamondmerchant.InNorwayIwasanEnglishstudentofIbsencollectingmaterialsforlectures,butwhenIleftBergenIwasacinema-manwithspecialskifilms.AndIcameherefromLeithwithalotofpulp-woodpropositionsinmypockettoputbeforetheLondonnewspapers.TillyesterdayIthoughtIhadmuddiedmytrailsome,andwasfeelingprettyhappy.Then....”
Therecollectionseemedtoupsethim,andhegulpeddownsomemorewhisky.
“ThenIsawamanstandinginthestreetoutsidethisblock.Iusedtostaycloseinmyroomallday,andonlyslipoutafterdarkforanhourortwo.Iwatchedhimforabitfrommywindow,andIthoughtIrecognizedhim....Hecameinandspoketotheporter....
